Sick Little Boy
by shetland
Summary: A mysterious child is dropped off in McCoy's quarters, and he's making a terrible mess. The penultimate in "wish fulfillment" for me.....


McCoy sat up quicky, his head warm and fuzzy from sleep. He could have sworn he heard something akin to slop being dribbled on his floor. He paused, listened hard, and heard nothing. Shrugging, he laid back down again. Then he heard it again, but this time it was preceeded by a very wet belch and a followed by a plaintative cry.

"What in god's name," he tossed off the sheet and stamped his feet on the floor, and tore through his quarters to look for the source.

There, sitting before the desk, in a satin nightgown, was a little child. It looked like a boy, and his white silk gown was covered in pinkish vomit that dribbled down his chin. His face was ruddy, sweaty from crying, and when he spotted McCoy, he held up his arms and wailed pitifully.

Confused, yet thrown into action by apparent illness picked the boy up. He immediately wished he had thought of grabbing a towel first, as his grey shirt stuck to the boy's face and arms. "Oh," he gasped at the smell.

The boy caught on to the man's distaste, and began sobbing harder.

"It's all right, I'm sorry," McCoy said to him, attempting to comfort him and yet not wanting to touch him. "We'll just get you to sickbay." He paused at the door and studied the mess on his carpet. "And call a steward. What the hell have you been eating?"

The boy didn't answer, but began rubbing his forehead with a splattered hand, spreading more mess into his fine blond hair. Tears streamed down his face, and McCoy thought that at least he wasn't dehydrated.

Carrying him quickly down the halls, he got a few quizzical glances from the night shift crew that he passed. He even thought he heard a snicker, and he turned for a moment to see who it was. For pete's sake, he thought unhappily, this is an alien child who's sick! Why in god's name would someone laugh?

And then he caught another whiff of that remarkable smell that the child, and now he, was emanating. It wasn't the earthy smell of an adult's vomit. It was more like the smell that a bottle of champange gives off after it had been half drunk and then left out for a few days. McCoy shook his head, preferring not to remember how he got that visceral memory.

He felt the little boy heave in his arms again, and he whipped out the sticky mess to arm's length. The boy dribbled a little more pinkish goo onto the mahogany colored carpet, and a passing crewman leapt back with a gasped shock.

"Call a steward," McCoy called back to her. "And when he's done with this, there's more in my quarters."

He finally reached sickbay and with a gratifying whoosh the doors slid open. The night nurse looked at McCoy, in his pajamas and carrying a particularly nasty and crying toddler, and nearly dropped her PADD.

"Well, don't just stand there!" McCoy barked. "Help me with this!" He held out the boy, and the nurse gingerly took him like he was a chunk of moldy cheese. "Get him out of those clothes and run a bath!" ordered McCoy.

"Yes, Doctor," the nurse had been whipped into submission and quickly whisked the boy away.

McCoy went to his glass paneled office and ordered the servitor to produce a cup of strong black coffee. He then went to his comm and called up Kirk. "Jim, get up!" he shouted in a groggy voice.

There was a pause, and then Kirk's lined face appeared on the screen. "Bones? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," McCoy set his coffee mug down with a clunk on the desk. "But someone saw fit to deposit a patient in my quarters tonight."

"What are you talking about?"

"There's a toddler in here, puking and crying, and I don't know where in the hell he came from! You figure it out!" McCoy shouted angrily, and closed the channel.

The nurse tapped on the door nervously, carrying a small pile of clothing. "Sir? I came to ask you, should we try to feed him? And," she proferred the pile. "I brought you a uniform."

"Ah," McCoy took the uniform and racked his brain trying to remember his pediatric medicine. "No. No food. Ah, just prep up an electrolyte solution," he paused. "I think that's it."

The doors slid open and Kirk came in, a terry robe wrapped over his pajamas. "Bones? I think you said something about a toddler, but," he trailed off, as though the doctor had just come up with a terrific prank.

"Yes!" McCoy was exasperated. "Yes, Jim! There is a toddler in my sickbay," he fumbled with his pants over his pajama bottoms. "Puking on my carpet," he jerked on his uniform jacket but left it hanging open. "And I don't have any idea where in god's name he came from! Or did you think I was making it up at 100 hours?"

"Well, I," Kirk stammered, and followed McCoy out to the treatment area. There, just as promised, was a little boy no older than two, sitting and looking miserable on a giant biobed, which was too large to read any of his vital signs. He snuffled and yawned, and rubbed his eyes with a now clean hand. He looked up at the new arrival with red and puffy eyes, and blinked.

"What's wrong with him?" Kirk asked.

"I don't know," McCoy rubbed his eyes groggily. "We've been too busy cleaning him up to scan him. I heard something puking, looked around and there he was."

"No indication of where he came from?"

"No, Jim, nothing." McCoy waved a scanner over the boy, and pursed his lips. "Looks like a simple case of gastroenteritis. I can give him something, but it won't take effect for twelve hours."

Just then there was a magnificent squirting sound issuing from the boy's diaper, which lasted for a full minute and was followed by a terrific stench. A brown stain began creeping up the boy's oversize Starfleet hospital gown, and he began to wail again.

"Oh, god," Kirk turned away. "Can't you just plug him up in the meantime?"

"Nurse," McCoy looked up. "We don't have anything resembling a clean diaper on this ship, do we?"

She paused and thought a moment. "I think I can coerce the replicator to come up with something." She padded away, and returned a few moments later with a fresh gown and a neatly folded paperlike item. "This is the best I could do," she said apologetically, and stepped back.

McCoy picked up the makeshift diaper, looked at it for a moment, and then offered it to Kirk. "Jim, I don't think this is in my job description."

Kirk looked up at him with a terrified glance. "What? And you think it's in mine?"

The boy cried harder, sobbing pitifully, and laid down in his anguish.

"For the love of," McCoy gave up, and began pulling the damp gown off the child. Although it had been nearly a decade since his last experience with a diaper, he found that it was a lot like riding a bike. And the smell was pretty foul, but it wasn't anything near as foul as the stink from a tellarite.

He sat the boy up, and grinned at his success. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" he said to the boy, and to himself.

McCoy took a cup of electrolyte solution in a bottle, proferred by a second nurse, and looked at it angrily. "Why in the hell is this in a bottle? I didn't even know we had bottles."

"Well, sir," she stammered. "It's a baby, isn't it?"

"No!" McCoy waved his arms at the boy. "That's a toddler! Here," he offered the bottle to the boy. "Watch."

The boy looked at it for a moment, and with a slight scowl, pushed it away.

"He probably hasn't had a bottle for at least a few months," McCoy handed it back to the nurse. "Why don't you draw up one of those cups," he stammered and gestured incomprehensibly. "It's got a lid with a spout on it," he trailed off.

"A sippy cup," Kirk snapped his fingers.

"That's it," McCoy smiled at the name. "A sippy cup."

The nurse gave them both a confused look, and turned back to the replicator. She came back a moment later with a lidded cup with a spout on it.

McCoy transferred the solution into it, and handed it to the boy.

Again, the boy scowled and pushed it away, with a determined, "Uh!"

"Well, what's the problem?" McCoy demanded.

The boy began to cry again at the outburst.

"You know," Kirk leaned on the biobed and patted the boy's back comfortingly. "When I was sick, my mom gave me ice chips."

McCoy snapped his fingers. "Good idea." He took the sippy cup back to the replicator. "Computer, freeze this into chipped ice."

"Does not compute," the computer replied mechanically.

"Of course it computes!" McCoy shouted, hitting the machine with his fist. "It's 0200 hours and I'm damn tired. Now make this into ice chips before you're beamed into oblivion!"

The machine clicked and whirred, closed the shutter door, and reopened it a few moments later with a bowl of pink ice chips.

Kirk laughed and took the bowl from McCoy. "Excellent command of the situation. Remind me never to put you in the captain's seat."

McCoy grumbled and watched as the boy cautiosly ate a few chips. McCoy took a hypospray from the nurse and pressed it with a promising hiss into the boy's bare leg. "Twelve hours, and he should be fine."

"He's tired, sir," said the night nurse. "Perhaps we should just put him to bed." She paused and looked around. "But I don't dare leave him on one of these things," she tapped the biobed. "He'll fall off for sure."

"Hm," McCoy considered. "And I'll bet money we don't have a crib, or at least a low bed."

Kirk looked up. "Why not throw some cushions and blankets on Spock's meditation stone? That's low."

McCoy smiled wickedly. "Oh, Jim. Just when I thought that this was going to be a miserable night. Now I can sure my misery with those I love most."

Kirk went to the comm panel and called up Spock. "We have an unexpected visitor, and we think that he may be best off spending the night with you."

"I am unclear on your meaning, captain," Spock himself sounded mildly annoyed at being roused at such a late hour.

"We'll explain when we get there," Kirk glanced at the toddler, who had begun wailing again in his exhaustion. Kirk picked him up and bounced him gently. "Well, we don't know where you came from, but I'm sure Mister Spock would be delighted to have some company."

The boy answered with another loud flarbing sound from his diaper.

"That one's yours, Jim," McCoy pointed quickly.

Another gown and diaper change later, the Captain, the Doctor and the boy made their way down the corridor towards Spock's quarters. Jim carried the boy, and McCoy carried a stack of gowns, diapers and wipes, as well as a cup of more electrolyte solution.

"I think Spock is going to like you," Kirk cooed.

The boy pointed at his nose, and said, "Beep."

Spock's door opened, and the groggy Vulcan stood waiting.

"Congratulations, Spock," McCoy walked in amicably and set down the pile of supplies on his desk. "You get to babysit for the rest of the night."

Kirk handed him the child, who pointed inquisitively at Spock's ear with a questioning, "What? What?"

"We don't have a crib or low bed onboard ship," Kirk explained. "So we didn't think you'd mind if we borrowed your meditation stone for the evening."

"Of course not," Spock looked at the child curiously. "But where did this child come from?"

The child stabbed a finger into Spock's eye. "Eye!" he smiled and laughed.

"Someone, or something, dropped it off with the Doctor earlier this evening," Kirk yawned.

"Fascinating," Spock turned, and sounded annoyed.

McCoy had brought some blankets and was lying them across the stone, attempting to make it comfortable for the humanoid child. Spock laid him down and drew a blanket across his chest. The boy immediately kicked off the blanket and began grasping towards the men. "Pass! Pass!" he demanded.

"Pass?" Mccoy lifted a brow. "What on earth could that mean?"

Spock looked his curiously. "Pass over? Passion?"

"Pass, pass," Kirk said to himself quietly. "Pacifier!" he snapped his fingers in a moment of brilliance.

"Pacifier?" Spock looked at him as though he were from the farthest moon off Delta.

"You know, a pacifier? No, I guess Vulcans wouldn't have them," Kirk trailed off.

"It's an artificial nipple, Spock," McCoy filled him in. "Human babies derive pleasure from sucking on something. When breastfeeding moms get tired, they use a pacifier. Believe me, you're going to want one in an hour or so."

"Are you insinuating that I derive pleasure from suckling?" Spock asked.

"No, Spock. But that would be beyond hilarity if you did," McCoy answered sharply. He went to the replicator and asked for a pacifier.

"Undefined Parameters," the computer spoke back.

"Oh, come on!" McCoy rolled his eyes. "It's a rubber nipple attached to a mouthpiece! How hard can it be?"

The door closed, the lights flashed, and the computer produced a rather poor replication of what McCoy remembered as a pacifier. "This is nice," he told the computer. "But do you have any comprehension of the term 'choking hazard'?"

The computer tried again, this time placing a ring on the back of the slapped together contraption. Spock lifted it out and examined it. "Extraordinary," he mulled. "But if a human child derives pleasure from suckling at his mother's breast, why would he accept a synthetic substitution that provides no nourishment value?"

"I don't know, Spock," McCoy whipped away the pacifier. "Don't question what works, would ya?" McCoy offered the boy the "passie" and he eagerly took it. From the moment he began suckling it, his eyes began to shut and he rolled over, clutching a blanket to his chest.

"See?" McCoy whispered harshly. "They're like magic."

"Am I to assume," Spock turned to Kirk. "That the child will be remaining here for the night?"

"Yes. Make sure he doesn't hurt himself. We'll be working on returning him to wherever he came from in the morning." Kirk rubbed his face groggily and looked at a chronometer. "And there's only three more hours until our shift starts, so it won't be long."

"And there's plenty of diapers and supplies," McCoy pointed, and quickly made for the door.

"Don't you think you should show him how to," Kirk pointed to the diapers.

"He's a science officer, Jim. Don't you think they teach those things at the Vulcan science academy?" McCoy could barely hold back his evil grin.

Spock raised an eyebrow, and glanced at the now peacefully sleeping child.

The following morning, Kirk stepped onto the bridge to the sound of a high pitched, delighted squeal. The boy, dressed in a Vulcan child's longshirt and pants, was sitting on Uhura's lap and slamming any button within reach with his tiny fists.

The console flashed with confusion and the computer whined in protest, but this only served to delight the child further.

Uhura smiled and guided his hand to open a channel, "It's this one. I'll make you a bridge officer yet."

Kirk stepped over. "Aren't you worried that he might break something?"

"I think if we can handle the V'Ger probe shocking it, I think we can handle this little fella pounding on it. Besides, when Sulu had him, he changed the course three times. He's safer here." Uhura went back to guiding his inquisitive fingers over the flashing lights of the console.

Spock stepped over to the Captain. "Forgive me, sir. The bridge crew seems to have an intense fascination with the boy. I attempted to keep him isolated at my station, but they literally grabbed him away."

"Well," Kirk sighed. "Most humans do love babies and children."

McCoy stepped off the turbolift and looked very tired. "Well? Where is he?"

"Probably calling all of Starfleet on channel K7," Kirk groaned, looking over at Uhura and the boy.

"Any idea where he came from?"

"Negative," Spock said. "There are no indicators of anyone transporting aboard this vessel in the past twelve hours," he began to explain some theory, but at that moment there was a blinding light flashed in the bridge.

When Kirk could see again, he saw a shimmering figure in white pad across the room towards the child. "Oh, my sweet boy!" she said softly.

"Wait a damn minute," Kirk stepped between her and the child. "What is the meaning of this? Who are you?"

She glanced up at him with fiery blue eyes, her blond hair held back with a jeweled clip. Her dress was a translucent white, shimmering silver and a capelet draped her shoulders. "You must be referring to my child," she smiled softly. "You see, I took him to see a human settlement not far from here. He became ill so quickly, I knew not what to do. This dress is dry clean only," she held up a section of the shimmering satin. "I thought that a human doctor would have a cure for a human disease. So I left him with your physician."

"Human doctor?" McCoy asked quickly. "Then what the hell are you?"

"My younger brother recommended you, Doctor McCoy. You might remember him as Trelaine." She winked and collected the boy from Uhura. "And I see that he is again right as rain, as you might say."

She and the now smiling and gurgling boy walked together to the main viewscreen with dramatic flair. "And now that I see you have indeed cured my son's ills, we will be on our way. Doctor, you shall find payment for your services in your quarters where I left the child." And with another blinding flash, they were gone.

McCoy ran back to his quarters to find a full case of the finest Romulan Ale the galaxy had to offer, of a distinctively aged vintage. If a country doctor ever accepted a barter exchange for treatment, this had to be the best he'd ever received.


End file.
